I'm NOT a Coward
by konarciq
Summary: The damage was done: Odelia had called. And Gus knew Felicity well enough to know that sooner or later she'd track him down. What would he say to convince her to leave him and return home? "Return to Me" from Gus's point of view. My first Avonlea-fanfic!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I know this topic has been elaborated before by others, but I´d just like to add my two cents to the scene.

And of course: any characters and lines you recognize from the Avonlea episode "_Return to Me_" are not mine, and I do not make any money with this story!

* * *

**I**'**m NOT a Coward**

_Return to Me_ from Gus´s point of view

.

The damage was done: Odelia had called.

She would come here. Sooner or later she would track him down and come to get him; no one who knew Felicity King would even dare to doubt that.

And _he_ knew her better than anyone.

So he had to prepare himself. To strengthen, to pantser himself. After what had happened... He gulped painfully at the memory. He had nothing left to offer her. Not even a pair of fashion boots – and that was once all he owned, according to her.

But it was no use. After what he had witnessed there at sea – the deaths, the fear, the destruction – he felt he had grown cold inside. How could a man ever give love to anyone, with such horrid images haunting him, day and night? Why couldn't he have drowned right along with the others, and rest in eternal peace at the bottom of the ocean? Why did _he_ have to go on living, with eyes that saw nothing but the images he so fought to shut out – only to have them return more persistently, more accusingly each time?

Nothing to offer her. She deserved better than a man who couldn't love her. Better than a useless blind man burdening her. She deserved happiness with a man who loved her truly.

But knowing Felicity, she would never leave him. Especially not like this. She was way too decent to leave him now that he was blind. She'd want to take him home and care for him... and grow into an old spinster who had never known true love in her life. He could not let that happen. Not to her. Not Felicity.

But that meant he'd have to deal with her one of these days. Firmly; harshly even. It was only for her own happiness; she was far too stubborn, too tenacious for her own good anyway. But this time she'd _have_ to give in. To give him up. He'd have to _make_ her. Even if... even if, in a small corner of his heart, he yearned for her loving embrace...

* * *

The dreaded moment came even sooner than he had anticipated.

It was on a Friday afternoon, about the time Miss Lydie and Odelia usually returned from choir practice, when the door of his room creaked open. Some footsteps, but they halted at the entrance of the room.

"Miss Lydie? Back from practice?"

Mechanically his hands continued to plait the reed under his hands. It was monotonous work, that did little to divert his gloomy thoughts. But at least it saved him from the guilt of living totally on Miss Lydie´s charity.

No answer yet. That was strange. Or had he just imagined the creaking? "Miss Lydie?"

Someone was definitely there: he could hear their quick breathing. It couldn't be Odelia, could it? One of the kids maybe? Or... "Who's there?" A sudden dark misgiving struck him. She couldn't... She couldn't have found him _that_ quick, could she?!

But it was _her_ voice, choked up with emotion, that answered him: "Gus... It's Felicity..."

The adrenaline rushed to his head. This was the moment: he had to convince her once and for all. Now! "_Get out!_" he roared.

And gulped. Felicity... His Felicity, she was here, she had come! He wanted... he couldn't... he had to... "_Get out!!_"

He could feel her shock. "Gus, no!"

But he had to get her out. Leave. He got up and and flung himself in her direction. "Get out, I said!" He tripped over one of those blasted baskets. It only enforced his resolve to spare her a future with him, as she and someone – Miss Lydie probably – were instantly at his side to help him up.

But he mowed their helping hands away. "Didn't you hear me?!" he yelled as he struggled to his feet and bustled them towards the door. "Get out and leave me in peace!"

His mind was reeling as he slammed the door shut behind them. His roars sounded like a mad man's in his own ears – perhaps he really was going mad? Pushing away the only one who – even in his present state – would be able to give him a little happiness, just by being with him. And he pushed her away, out of his life, unable as he was to command the selfishness to claim her love, no matter the circumstances.

Panting heavily he leaned against the wooden door. She couldn't... _he_ couldn't. "Just go away," he panted. "Go away..." Now you've seen what I've become. Now go away and get on with your life. I'll be the first to wish you all the happiness in the world...

He touched his way back to the cot and slumped down on it, his head buried in his hands. It was over now. Well, the first shock of having to face her; the dreadful waiting till her inevitable walking in here.

He doubted she would go away and give up yet. The Felicity he knew sure wouldn't. She'd be back in here within the next few hours, ready to fight for what she thought she wanted. But he wouldn't budge. He couldn't let her. He couldn't ruin her entire life. She _had_ to get on without him. And he without her. No matter how bleak things became of that thought.

Trembling, he took a few deep breaths to steady himself. Better get back to work. Knowing Felicity, she'd be back in here soon. He couldn't let her see the weakness in his pantser. He couldn't let her see the desperate longing for her he still felt – despite everything. He had to think only of her now. Her good and her happiness. His own life was over anyway, and he could do it: he'd had enough practice in self-denial in his life. She...

He turned as the door creaked open. Felicity?

No, it was a male voice addressing him. Gently – the way you speak to a madman in order not to risk upsetting him.

"I don't know _you_, and I barely know Miss King. But don't you think you owe it to the girl to at least talk to her?"

This was easier. A stranger. "Felicity deserves better. And she's too decent a person to leave a blind man." He heard himself just how much love these words conveyed – even if his voice didn't.

The stranger approached him until his eyes picked up a shadow. And from very close to him, the voice said compassionately: "I know what you're going through, son."

Instantly annoyed – everyone always thought they knew exactly what he was going through, yet no one came even _close_ to understanding his feelings – he snapped: "No. You don't. And neither does she."

The man moved out of his sight – ha, what sight! – but continued as if he hadn't heard him: "That young lady has undertaken an incredible journey, with nothing to go on but faith. Faith in you." He was moving across the room as he spoke: "Surely you can find a corner of your heart to soften toward her. What has she ever done... but love you..."

She was there. He knew it; he sensed her presence.

He struggled not to show his emotion. He couldn't; not now. But the guy had struck a sensitive nerve. A corner of his heart...

Her hesitant voice cut through his thoughts: "Gus..."

His eyes flitted towards the sweet sound of her voice. Footsteps coming closer... He had to stay strong! She had to go home; it was no use!

But as he felt her knee touching his leg as she sat down, and heard the rustling of her dress, and felt her breath brushing against his skin... everything in his mind just blurred. She was here; Felicity was here and that was all that mattered. His face twitched as the tears he had choked down for so long suddenly filled his eyes. He hadn't been able to cry over the death of his mates, but now that Felicity was here...

Slowly, and of its own accord, his hand began to move upwards. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't stop it; he just _had_ to caress her. One last time perhaps, that's all. Then he'd...

Her cheek so soft. Even softer than he remembered. Baskingly she leaned onto his hand, setting his heart racing. Then cool, soft fingers lovingly embraced his coarse hand, and a soft, sweet kiss was placed on his fingers.

Felicity...

Suddenly his longing prevailed upon all common sense: he drew her close and into a kiss. A desperate kiss of longing and love and loneliness... Her hands around his stubbly jaw, and for the first time ever he felt the wonder of her surrendering completely, without awkward second thoughts about self-consciousness or propriety. A loving kiss as the medicine for all he'd been through.

And finally, finally he felt he could have faith again. Believe that everything would be allright, as long as...

Slowly, their lips parted, and unwilling to let go of the basking homey feeling, he drew her into his arms. To hold her, to be held by her. Her small, lovely breasts against his chest, her loving supportive hands on his back, her sweet stubborn chin resting on his shoulder, the brim of her hat tousling his hair, her lovely scent in his nose... Home. Felicity.

He felt her sigh with relief over his shoulder.

Relief?!

Brusquely he pushed her away and turned his back to her. There was no relief. For the likes of him, life simply didn't have happy-ever-afters. And he didn't _want_ her compassion. Or her charity. She had to leave him, for her own good. He had always been known as the guy who could do anything he put his mind to. Well, he had put his mind to driving her away, so she'd have some chance of finding happiness in life. And succeed he would!

Felicity's voice cut through his decisive thoughts. Pleading. Accusing. "_Why_ didn't you let me know you were alive?"

"I couldn't." Through clenched teeth. No time as the present: "I want you to go back to Avonlea and get on with your life."

"Gus, how could I?" Tormented. And how could it be otherwise? Finally having found him after more than a year of believing him to be dead?

Still: "You could if you tried."

He sensed her hope turn to despair – her relief to anger.

"The only way that I will go back to Avonlea is with you."

Exactly what he'd been afraid of. What he had known she would say. But he had to stop her, to make her see... "Look at me..." He ground the words out. "I'm useless! Don't waste your life."

She didn't give him a chance to finish: "Who are _you_ to tell me not to waste a life!"

She _had_ to... "Go home!"

She ignored his words: "Sitting here, with your baskets..."

He _had_ to make her understand; she just _had_ to: "Go home, I said!" he repeated forcefully. "You think we can just go on and live happily ever after... " Nothing he'd want more, but... "But you don't know what it feels like for _me_." He struggled to get the unfamiliar touch of sarcasm into his voice: "For some people life doesn't have happy-ever-afters."

"We would be fine!"

Oh yeah. Trying to convince him, wasn't she. Well, not this time. He had one more arrow on his bow. A deadly one he'd have preferred not to use. But knowing Felicity, he had always known he would have to. As a last resort, because she just wouldn't give him up. But she had to. He _had_ to convince her.

And grabbing her by the shoulders he forced himself to recite the words he had practised in his mind ever since he had learned of Odelia´s call: "I've gone cold inside. Like stone. I've no love to give anybody. If I have to spell it out for you, I will." His heart was being torn apart as he sensed her realization of what he was saying; her shock. The lovely vague outline in front of him... he couldn't continue, he couldn't _do_ this!

´You have to,´ he told himself sternly.

But he had to turn away; he couldn't face her as he choked out the horrible, untrue words both his heart and his mouth flatly refused to say: "I don't want you no more."

Silence.

He sensed her shock; she sat deathly still. But he had to concentrate all his willpower on not turning back to her and bursting out in tears in her arms. His breathing was heavy – as if his lungs suddenly were forced to take over the function of his broken heart.

It was over. Over. He'd convinced her, he was sure of that. She would go and...

The pain... It hurt... oh, how it hurt! He could scarcely breathe for the pain in his chest. But she would go and he would never see her again. And that's the way it had to be. For the best.

He heard her get up without a word and go towards the door. He focused on the sound of her soft footsteps; the last he'd ever hear from her. They hesitated near the door, and turned around. Probably for a last look.

"I won't leave you."

What!?

Her voice, choked up with emotion but with a stubborn determination he had never heard before – not even in _her_ voice – continued: "I will live the rest of my days out here if I have to, but I will _not_ go back to Avonlea unless _you_ are with me."

He turned around in a flash. "Felicity!" His mouth started to call her back, but the door fell already shut behind her before any sound had left his throat.

He made a motion to get up, to go after her, but the footsteps already retreated outside.

And then there was silence.

He sank back on the cot in despair, and buried his head in his hands for the second time that day.

He had failed. Failed miserably. The man who could do anything he put his mind to had not been able to succeed in the one most important mission of his life: to ensure his Felicity's happiness. He knew her well enough to know that she would stay with him, heading for a life of misery and poverty. She had chosen him, and with him a fate he so much had wanted to shield her from. Felicity, his dear, dear Felicity would be doomed to a life of hard work and poverty, caring for a man who was nothing but a burden on her.

Why... _why!?_ _Why _couldn't he convince her? _Why_ had he failed in this one final vital task?! _Why?!_

He felt tears dropping from between his fingers. And finally, finally he allowed himself to cry.

.


	2. Chapter 2

The air was heavy; the room was suffocating; the walls closing in on him.

Air, light, he needed light, he had to get out! The world was closing in on him, and only the small port-hole gave him some vague light of day. A shimmer of hope.

Out. Outside.

He grabbed the hateful cane and hurriedly he stumbled out, with the basket he was working on forgotten in his hand. Through the narrow hall, towards the porch. And out into the light.

The door slammed shut behind him as he stood there, breathing deeply to fight off the sensation of suffocation – of drowning. He was safe. He was out. There was light all around him; the light of a slightly overcast summer-sky. No howling wind, no rolling thunder or lashing rain. No ripping sails or breaking wood. No exploding boilers.

"You want to come outside, boy?"

Miss Lydie.

Waveringly he touched his way towards the bench in front of the porch. But she already took his arm and guided him over.

For a moment he wanted to pull away, unwilling to need literal guidance from anyone.

But then he resigned and sank down on the bench.

For a few minutes he just sat there, idly turning the basket-to-be in his hands. Out of sheer habit they started to continue weaving, and only moments later he heard Miss Lydie put down a bundle of that detestable reed beside him. He felt like shouting, yelling, roaring. But all he said was a meek ´thanks´, as his fingers continued with the only work he was still capable of, and Miss Lydie returned to her laundry-line.

They both worked in silence. And as his hands expertly wove the reed into the basket, his mind went back and forth between despair of having failed, fear for Felicity's future, and – silly enough – gratitude for her not minding about his handicap; for still loving him, despite all the harsh words he had said to her this afternoon.

Still. For how long? Her love would die for sure once she'd fully realize what a life with him would be like. He couldn't do that to her. He'd have to keep trying. And if he couldn't convince _her_, perhaps he could convince her companions. For all of a sudden he realized it would be very unlike Mr. and Mrs. King to allow their daughter to undertake such a journey all by herself. And whoever was with her might – had to! – be more open to listen to reason than Felicity herself, after just having found her presumed dead fiancé. Maybe _they _could...

"Come on you all. Come on. Inside."

Miss Lydie's voice not only made him aware of Ruby and Benjamin playing nearby, but also seemed to announce a visitor. A visitor for him.

Who? Felicity? He braced himself for what he'd have to say again...

The person in question came closer; the rustle of the clothes betrayed it to be a female. But he refused to speak until she'd reveal herself.

And she did. "Well. Gus Pike."

An involuntary shiver went down his spine. No one, no one in the world pronounced his name so sharply cut, so clearly, save for... Miss King! Miss King, his main benefactor over the past years!

Mr. and Mrs. King he could have withstood. Not easily, but he would have managed. Felix likewise, as well as Jasper and Mrs. Dale.

But Miss King...?

She had continued talking, but he had missed what she said. But she was clearly waiting for an answer.

Well, at least he could try: "Go home, Miss King. Nothing you can say will change my mind," he said as placidly as he could under her scrutiny.

Clearly it was not a good answer to whatever her question had been: "Change your mind! Pshaw! You think I care a _wit_ if you sit here and rot after making such a fool of me?"

His head snapped up. "Fool of _you_?!" How could he ever make a fool of Miss King?!

But she had already continued: "Yes. I had such hopes for you, Gus Pike. Always, you were bright, you were ambitious... But most of all you had spirit. Or so I thought. That's why I tutored you and fussed over you and cuddled you... And for what! So you could hide away here, and throw your life to the wind!"

He took a deep breath. She was so right... once. But now... "It was no sense you and Felicity coming here. If you care about your niece, you'll take her home."

Suddenly the shadow in front of him grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and instinctively he shrank back.

"Don't you give me that pious face or I'll _slap_ you!" He could hear she was terribly upset now, but she let go of his shirt and started pacing in front of him.

"All along you said she was too good for you. Too good for you! Well, _now_ I'm inclined to agree!"

He flinched – stiffened. It was one thing to remonstrate that fact to himself – but to hear someone else actually _say_ it...!?

But Miss King continued mercilessly: "Oh, and not because you've lost your eyesight, boy, but because you're a _coward_!"

Something snapped inside him, and he roared back: "I'm _not_ a coward! You don't know what it feels li..."

"Shut up!" Miss King commanded, but in the rage he suddenly felt he started again: "You don..."

"Shut _up_!" Miss King yelled passionately in his face. "You have _nothing_ to say that I want to hear! If _you_ not have the guts to fight back, then... go on! Lie down and die for all I care!"

He heard her stomp away, he sensed Miss Lydie´s presence somewhere behind him on the porch. But most of all there was a rage, a blind rage in him.

´I'm _not_ a coward! What does _she_ know?! She knows _nothing_ of sacrifice; _nothing_ about being blind, and dependent on other people's charity! _Nothing_ about...!´

Suddenly he flung away the nearly finished basket in his hands. He heard it crash somewhere in the bushes across the lawn, but he couldn't care less about baskets now.

"I'll show you, Miss King," he muttered through clenched teeth as he grabbed his cane and got up from the bench. "I'll show you who's got guts here. Easy for _you_ to lecture a blind man, but _I'll_ show you that I can do more than just sit here and rot!"

He heard Miss Lydie come off the porch as he made his way across the garden. "Gus! Gus Pike, where are you going?"

"To the hotel, to give Miss King a piece of my mind," he answered hoarsely.

Miss Lydie caught up with him. "Good on you." He heard her smiling. "But you can't go there barefoot and in your undershirt; they'd never let you in. Come inside and I'll fetch you a shirt of Joseph's."

He struggled, but Miss Lydie was inexorable: she pulled him back into the house, into the bedroom and placed a smooth cotton shirt in his hands. "Put that on," she told him. "Then you can go and give Miss King a good piece of your mind. Benjamin can take you there."

"I want to go by myself. I can do it," he insisted as he quickly put his arms through the sleeves.

"Don't be foolish now. You've never even been in that part of town; you'd only get yourself lost. And you do want to get to Miss King as soon as may be, don't you?"

That was true. But he still pushed her hands away when she wanted to give him a hand in buttoning up the shirt. "I can manage, thanks."

She put some other things in his way: socks, his boots, a comb... Had he ever made himself presentable so quickly?

When he was done and eagerly touched his way outside again, he heard Miss Lydie and young Ben come out of the living-room.

"You know where it is, don't you? The Beaufort hotel, that fancy white building near the harbour. You be a good boy and take Gus there, won't you?"

He felt the boy's hand slide in his as soon as he stepped outside.

"Good luck now!" he heard Miss Lydie call after them as they stepped out into the street.

It was quite a walk, and apart from Benjamin begging him every now and then to slow down, not a word was exchanged between the two. Young Ben was too much out of breath from trying to keep up with him, and _he_ was totally focused on getting to the hotel as quickly as possible. He would have run all the way in his indignation if it hadn't been madness in this environment.

He pricked his ears as he picked up the polite chatter he knew so well from the White Sands. Was this the Beaufort hotel; were they getting close?

He felt how young Ben suddenly hesitated. And a voice, an oh so dear and familiar voice greeting him in happy surprise: "Gus?"

Her hand on his arm caused a jolt of electricity, and his anger towards Miss King was instantly forgotten. For no matter what, and despite all he had said and that he had tried to convince her and himself of, he knew that Felicity still had complete power over him. He still wanted her, more than anything in this world.

But Ben tried to hide behind his back, clearly scared of all those fancy white people. It reminded him of himself, the first time he had entered the good old White Sands hotel.

He stroked the boy's head. "It's allright," he told him quietly. "Don't be scared. Run along home now."

Immediately the boy took off; clearly he needn't be told twice.

And with a slight smile he turned back to Felicity. Still _his_ Felicity.

She took his hand, hooked her arm through his and guided him somewhere down a few steps and onto a patch of grass, away from the chattering guests on what he presumed to be a terrace. It felt good to be guided by her; he felt no urge whatsoever to pull away from her and find his own way with the sole help of his cane. Felicity – the best thing ever to happen to him.

At last she spoke. "I had to find you, Gus. You've got to come home. Where people know you. And love you. _Home_."

Home. P.E. Island. Avonlea, the only place he even remotely referred to as ´home´ – because Felicity was there. But apart from that...

A twitch of pain crossed his face as he turned to face her. "I've travelled, Felicity." The first time he used that beautiful name again in her presence. "And I've seen things: the Southern Cross in the night-sky... The fire of St. Elmo, dancing on the water..." His eyes wandered off, searching the horizon for all those wonders his eyes no longer could beheld. "Land hovering the horizon from the mist... I've seen the sun, rising on old Spanish ports and the older towns of the Maya." He gulped at the mention of all the beauty his eyes once had beheld. But right in front of him now was the most beautiful creature of all. He lowered his eyes onto where he presumed her face to be. "And I'll never see again. I'll never see your face again..." He fell silent; bitterness and grief evident on his face.

Again, Felicity put her hand on his arm. "You've _got_ to come home," she urged him.

It was evident what she was aiming at: home to _her_. But could he really do that to her?

"Have you _any_ idea what a future would be like with me?" he therefore asked her slowly, emphasizing nearly every word.

Her reply came quickly and honestly: "No. But I know what it would be _without_ you."

He gulped. She was right. He hadn't thought of that, but Felicity knew all too well what life was like without him. For more than a year, she had lived with the assumption that he was dead. Gone forever. And yet at the first vague sign of life, she had taken off on something close to a wild goose chase, and when she had found him, she flatly refused to leave him even when he told her in very plain words that he didn't want her anymore.

It grieved him to learn just how miserable she must have been: to prefer a life in an unknown city in a faraway country, with a man who insists he doesn't love her anymore, over turning back to her family on the beautiful island she called ´home´.

But he still didn't want to stand in the way of her happiness; those reasons were still terribly valid. It still hurt like hell to force out the words that one day might shatter the one and only dream of his life, but... He cleared his throat. "I won't hold you to your promise. You don't _have_ to marry me."

He sensed her beaming smile. "We'll just take it one day at a time."

In an impulse he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a loving kiss on her fine fingers. She still wore his ring. She still considered herself his.

And as she took his arm to guide him further across the lawn, he sensed how she simply radiated with happiness.

_His_ Felicity.

And as they sat down on some kind of double rocking-chair, and he felt her snuggling up to him, holding his hand, he realized that perhaps... perhaps, if he was willing to fight for it, life might just have a happy-ever-after in stock after all.

Even for the likes of him.

.

**The End**


End file.
